Darker Shoulders to Lean On
by TheBloodyShowPony
Summary: S1E12 "Faith" What if they hadn't found the healer in their Dad's Journal? What if Sam had to take matters into his own hands, regardless of the consequences and of what it could do to himself? Will he be able to save Dean and what will he have to sacrifice in return? Longer description in Chapter: Lousy summery sorry. Hurt Sam/Protective Dean. Two Shot.


_Darker Shoulders to Lean On ~ A Supernatural Fanfic_

**Hi Guys! So this is my first Supernatural Fanfic, so I'm pretty excited about this! I hope you like this! Two shot. I know I haven't posted the next chapter of "Friends Forged in Fire", but, like I promised in my bio, it's defiantly coming! This Fic takes place in S1E12 'Faith' and is an alternate plot.**

**Full Summary:**

'_Sam has contacted everyone in his father's journal, praying that one of them will have the answer, that one of them will know how to save Dean. With no such luck, Sam has finished holding out hope, but is still more than a little unwilling to exept that it's over. So when a mysterious stranger knocks at Sam's door, baring the prospect of saving Dean, will it truly be enough, and will Sam still be around to find out?'_

_**Enjoy! R&R**_

Chapter 1

Sam dialled again, his thumb punching at each key in turn, his clear frustration scored across each motion his weary body made like a tally, counting, continually counting; marking each mistake, every failed attempt to do something, anything to save him.

Anything to save Dean.

His brother.

He couldn't, wouldn't lose him.

Not Dean.

_You could have saved him_, Sam mentally fumed, his mind raw and itching with the painful resolution.

_If you'd just been quicker, or moved your sorry arse a little faster and actually had his Damn back for once in your fucked-up life then... then everything would be...then Dean wouldn't be..._

Sam swallowed painfully, his eyes aching from the dry strain of restraining his unshed tears.

His failure, his inability to save Dean had sent him into a state of bodily hibernation, (though his mind was still spinning like a treadmill) and he had stopped providing his body with the things that it so desperately needed to carry on.

He would forget to eat, to busy drilling himself like an army marshal: _Contacts, read through the contacts again, you missed someone, they're probably on the next page, damn it Sam, focus, you've not given up yet._

With an irritated sigh he thumbed the end call button, and, frustrated, flung his phone across the motel room where it broke apart against the wall with a dull thump and the tinkling of plastic.

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose firmly between his thumb and forefinger, hoping to relieve his mind of some of the pent up pressure inside: the result of days without proper rest and even scarcer nights of sleep.

_"There's nothing more we can do now but make his last few months comfortable, I'm afraid... I'm so sorry."_

Sam growled, frustrated with the words that always seemed to worm their way back into his ears. _Like Hell_. He snarled, hiding the surfacing worry with a show of strength.

He sighed deeply, his breath shuddering slightly on the intake.

_That's what Dean would do._

Sam flopped back on the bed, the cheap motel mattress creaking beneath him. _I'm not giving up, Dean. I promise, I'm just…_

Sam rubbed both hands over his face, his palms digging into the hollows of his eyes. He was suddenly overcome with a wave of exhaustion, many sleepless nights catching up with him in a surge of emotion.

His eyes swam out of focus, suddenly misted over and he was unable to see the dimly lit motel room around him.

_Damn it._ He thought letting out his breath in a huff. _Dean would gank me if he saw me lying' here cryin' over his sorry ass. _Sam let a small, watery laugh escape him, and slid his eyes tiredly closed, and tried not to think about Dean.

He remembered once before, and it seemed so long ago now, before Dean was... before he couldn't... they were flying down a stretch of road, just outside of Indiana, the Impala purring beneath them, eating up the tarmac at about 90 miles an hour. They'd just finished a job, and with another demon blown to hell the two Winchesters were in high spirits, no matter how easy the salt and burn had technically been. The stereo blared some old track that Sam vaguely recognized: 'Old American rock crap' (as he called it) that he actually kinda liked (but he wasn't going to be telling Dean that any time soon). The windows were fully down, blasting cool air into Sam's face and carding through his hair, soothing his warm features. He turned to Dean and smiled because, in that moment, everything was good, and when a Winchester is offered good, if even just for a car drive past Indiana, he'll take it.

For a few minutes, Sam drifted peacefully on the brink of sleep, and for just one moment in the last week, he was blissfully unaware of everything: his problems, Dean's problems, their Dad, Jessica, and for a second, even his own heavy conscience.

Sam's head snapped up sharply, his green-brown orbs wide and piercing as he stared down the length of the bed, hearing a sharp wrap of knuckles on the room door. This effectively jarred his neck, causing a lash of pain to whip up the length of the muscle.

"Ah, well crap." Sam groaned, sitting up hastily. His heart and mind was running at a controversially fast rate to the rest of his senses, and he could already feel the adrenalin pumping into his bloodstream from a lifetime of experience.

The knock came again, the same pace, the same volume.

The same knock.

Sam swallowed shallowly.

He fumbled for the gun on the bedside table, hurriedly stuffing it up into his belt loop before he stood from the bed.

His heart was pounding, his breaths released in small puffs.

_C'mon Sammy._ He thought hastily, his overtaxed mind grasping at possibilities. _Since when did the killer knock on the door?_

_And since when did room service come round at one in the morning?_ His mind countered, doing nothing to help the situation at hand.

He sighed, running a hand through his tangled hair, and starting towards the door. His long legs got him there in less than three strides, and, leaving no room for a counter decision, he place one hand on his gun, and threw the door wide.

"_Don't do anything stupid, Sammy." Dean pressed, His eyes wide and serious as he searched his brother's pale, sunken face. "Now, I'm not the kind of person to give up easily, and you know that, right Sammy? I'm a Winchester, that's what we do, we're stubborn." He swallowed deeply, his chest tight as he watched his little brother bow his head slowly in response. "And I don't care, I don't care what the doctor's say, Sammy, but I'm gonna keep hangin' on in here, and you're not gonna do anything stupid, Ok, you got me, little brother?"_

_Sam didn't reply, raising his eyes so that they locked with Dean's. _

"_Sam, you gotta promise me, man, you can't do anything stupid in the hopes that it will fix this, don't put yourself in danger for me, 'cause that's the kinda stupid-ass thing you'd try to do, and I'm not-"_

"_Damn it, Dean!" Sam shouted abruptly, rising from his chair with such force that he knocked it over backwards where it hit the floor with a clatter. "Don't say stuff like that, Ok? You act like your worth nothing, man, and you don't care about your own life! You act like the only thing that matters is the people that you save, and you'll be damned if you die for them. Think about the people that have died, Dean, think about Mum, or Jessica. They'd do anything to be alive, Dean! You wouldn't care if you died tomorrow, would you?"_

_Dean remained silent, staring at his brothers' outbreak of rage and frustration, his jaw clenched and face impassive._

_Sam threw his hands in the air, and they fell to his sides with an expressive slap on his jeans as Dean's doctor walked in, obviously roused by Sam's outburst. _

"_I don't care what you think, dude," He fumed, shooting Dean one last look as he shouldered on his jacket before leaving the hospital room, "You're not dying on me."_

Dean sighed deeply, pulling himself back from the painful memory and wishing he could change the past. He hadn't seen Sam since he had stormed out of the hospital, leaving Dean alone once more and feeling even guiltier than before. He had tried to warn his younger brother not to do anything rash, not to run straight into the situation or do anything that could potentially endanger himself, and (Dean suspected) had succeeded in doing completely the opposite. Sam's outburst was proof of that. His brother was now more likely to do something brash and irresponsible than before.

He was truly scared for the first time in his life, and not because of a hunt or some kind of supernatural being. He was scared of true human nature. Whilst he lay, powerless and weak in a hospital bed, Sam could be out there in trouble, in the midst of a fight, or bleeding out without him at his back, by his side, where he was made to be. Dean shuddered, terrible images flashing through his mind. He blinked rapidly, trying to wash the images away. _Even_ _Sam's not that thick_, Thought Dean hurriedly, trying to sooth his throbbing conscience. _Even Sam would know when not to risk his life for mine._

**Next chapter up soon, along with 'Friends Forged in Fire' Chapter 3! R&R**


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